


Immovable Object; Unstoppable Force

by samidha



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Antichrist Sam Winchester, Community: sammessiah, Evil Sam Winchester, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, Sam Has Powers, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Shippy Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-25
Updated: 2011-04-25
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:28:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11558085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samidha/pseuds/samidha
Summary: It all ends in a garden. Written for a prompt.





	Immovable Object; Unstoppable Force

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: http://sammessiah.livejournal.com/236202.html?thread=1283754#t1283754
> 
> I know it looks deleted, because that LJ doesn't exist anymore. It does on Dreamwidth though. See notes at end for art that was created for this.

It all ends in a garden, Dean feeling the prickle of sweat and the twinge of a memory that isn’t really there. He raises his eyes, hard as steel, to look upon the man he has hunted for so long (Six hundred and fifty three days), who has cost him Ellen and Jo and Bobby and nearly every friend Bobby ever had. Every friend Dean ever had.

He raises his eyes to look upon his prey and-- And Sam.

If you can’t save him--

He falls to his knees in the dirt under the weight of those eyes staring back, the gleam of soul light bleeding through, white white white and so hot. 

He doesn’t see familiar hazel, but he doesn’t have to. He feels the pull of Sam. Sam. Sam.

It would be easier if he didn’t know this was his brother, if it was just some monster wearing Sam to the prom. (Sam is dressed in white, too, and another not-memory tugs at him from somewhere, tinged with death and darkness.) But it’s Sam. He knows it from the way he stands, the way his forehead creases as he studies Dean, considering.

His brother is bleeding soul light and considering Dean like he’s just another black-eyed bitch to command.

Look at me, Sam sends just one such order, and Dean does, looks him right in the eyes, and Sam takes two steps back, like the certainty in Dean’s gaze is knocking him back, leaving him shaken.

”Dean,” he whispers, hoarse, so that the word almost doesn’t reach Dean where he is on the ground.

”Did you think I wouldn’t come? Did you think-- I wouldn’t hunt you? What did you think, Sammy?”

Sam takes another step back. ”No. I didn’t-- I--”

Leave it to him to be able to unhinge the Antichrist with a look.

”When did you get topside?” he asks, but it’s rhetorical. He remembers full well when the rivers ran bloody and the resevoirs filled with the thickness of demon smoke and ectoplasm. Day one. D Day.

”May second,” Sam whispers, and Dean nods. Stupid. He could have guessed back then, he could have guessed, but he didn’t want to.

He didn’t want any of this.

”So you chose this,” Dean all but sneers. ”You chose--”

”There was no choice. I am who I am, Dean.”

”Bullshit.”

”Just the way you can never get out from under--”

”You could have-- You could have come home.”

”And what? Let you kill me? Dad’s dying wish?”

”Sammy, how many times did I have to tell you that was bullshit? And so instead of coming home, you just decided to boil the water right off the planet with your... what? Minions? Servants? Do they serve you well, Sam?” He’s aiming for a sneer, but he misses it by a mile. As he talks the words get quieter and quieter. But his certainty never wavers. ”That how you think of us, Sam?”

”Not you. Never you.”

”Yeah, sorry, I still happen to be human, so excuse me if I don’t believe you. Certain things we peons need, Sam. Like water.”

Sam smiles a little, his forehead creased and telling Dean he was aiming for apologetic even without his hazel eyes. ”You telling me you’ve burned out on warm Mountain Dew?”

A joke. Sam is aiming for a joke right now. Or some kind of half-baked apology, or both.

Dean just makes sure his eyes stay steady on his face. ”Why didn’t you come home?” he asks. The question rips out before he can reel it back, like Sam reached deep into him, behind his ribs and forced it free.

For years, it’s been all that he wanted, all that he’s wondered about, how it would be to have Sam hunting beside him against the goddamn unstoppable force.

The irony burns on his tongue, down his throat, exactly like fine whiskey and nothing like it, nothing like it at all.

”You wouldn’t have taken me. Not like this. Not with-- My destiny, Dean, this was--”

”Fuck you, you goddamn liar. You don’t know what I would have done.”

”Well, I guess we’ll never find out, now, will we?”

”I guess not.” He can’t take the words back any more than Sam can replace the water in the rivers.

”You’ve played your part as well as I have,” Sam says softly.

Dean bites back his reply.

”I missed you, Dean,” Sam says, soft and earnest. The air is so hot and sulfur-sour, and Dean feels the press of demon power, holding him up but not allowing him to rise from his knees. 

”Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Here is the original post for this fic which contains small and big art for it created for me in exchange for the fic.
> 
> https://fhionnuisce.dreamwidth.org/1251264.html#cutid1


End file.
